


One World For One Life

by Cenobia



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Emotionally Unstable Warrior of Light, F/F, F/M, Intersex Haurchefant, Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, POV Second Person, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cenobia/pseuds/Cenobia
Summary: 'tis absolute insanity, the mere thought of it. You've killed people for less. But with naught else for you in this world, what is there to be done but start anew? Everything will be the same as you knew before. Right?
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What if Mide and Emet really did nothing wrong

Just in case.

Just in case, you’d done deep research into the Codex Enigma any chance you had.

Just in case, you’d kept all the parts you possibly could from the incredible machine you had to take apart deep under the Crystal Tower after saving the First from its impending doom.

Just in case, you’d kept practicing beyond mere Summoning and into proper Creation Magic once you learned that was a thing.

All of it just in case, because what if Mide was not wrong.

What if you completely understood why she wanted what she wanted.

But you kept forging on, kept fighting the good fight, kept helping your friends, kept saving the world. Because it’s what you do. It’s what He would do. It’s what a heroine does.

None of it stops you from wondering. From working at it between bouts of carrying the hope of millions on your shoulders.

And here you stand, where she stood. About to accomplish what she could not, and very possibly doom a world in the process. For the very same reason.

Just done resummoning the most dangerous Primal to ever exist.

To your side, Nugget preens calmly while keeping a lookout. It’s odd that of all the people in this world, you’ll miss him the most. Poor bird has been with you through everything and more.

You did not expect to see Ardbert’s soul standing there with him.

“One World for One Life, eh? I must say, you’re a better Warrior of Darkness than we ever were, hero.”

You stare wearily in his direction. Your eyes sting from dryness, but you’re sure tears will come soon to fix that anyway.

“If you’ve come looking for an excuse, you will find none here.”

He shrugs.

“Nay, there is no excuse needed. We all have our breaking points. You’ve hit yours years ago. If anything, I am surprised it took until now for everything to come to a head.”

You stare at the gigantic construct towering above the Thaliak River. A patchwork of the original being, supplanted with future Ironworks technology. An abomination, by all accounts. ‘Tis only right, for the purpose it will serve.

“Your dedication to going above and beyond is as impressive as always. Even when you’ve finally found a selfish bone in your body.”

Your tail flicks to the side annoyedly, not deigning the apparition with the honour of being looked at again.

“Have you finished your babbling?” You open the lock at the machine’s claw, steam hissing from within. “I have a world to end.”

He crosses his arms, smiling. “Come now, there is no point being cross at a dead man.” Ardbert stares at you in concern. “You are still in control of enough of your faculties to know that, right? That I’m not even his soul anymore, just a figment of your imagination?”

He gets no answer.

“Oh well. Go on then. Before the others come and make this worse.”

You step inside the halls of steel and steam, the final steps before this madness is complete. A familiar, curious titter comes from your side, big innocent black eyes staring at you.

“Nugs. You- You know what I’m about to do here, don’t you, friend? Do you truly want to take part in this?”

Nugget Kweh’s excitedly, gently rubbing his beak against one of your horns.

With a smile that actually reaches your eyes for once, you pet his neck, his happy crooning soothing your nerves.

“Alright boy. Let’s go make things right.”

* * *

Outside, Ardbert’s form dissolves into darkness, taking your semblance, but clad in heavy armour; its glowing red eyes even brighter than your own.

“I’m proud of you.”

* * *

You feel the ebb and flow of time pass you by like a wind on your travel through the aethereal seas, a moment or an eternity having the same meaning of none. The one thing that gets your attention is a pull on your soul, a crystalline blue light leading you to Her.

The ‘Mothercrystal’ towers in front of you, holding you in place gently.

“What art thee doing, mine child?”

The once calming ethereal voice now sends pure, fiery indignation running through your veins. At first, only your fists can clench, but within a moment, your inner light overpowers Hers, and you feel once more in control of your own body.

“What is thy purpose with such destruction? What doth thee seeketh?”

An unbidden growl escapes your lips, as you force your Will upon Hers.

“I would be inclined to answer if you were not the most _disappointing_ of all my creations. I am fixing what _you_ have failed to. The demise of that world is in _your_ hands, Primal.”

You wait a second to hear its response, but get none. ‘Tis almost if the being is wounded by your words. Even the subtle push of her will on your being is no more.

Good.

You regain your composure, though the disdain in your voice is none the lesser.

“Now **heel**. I have sometime to be.”

* * *

The bitter wind of Coerthas assaults your senses, the sun blinding in its reflection on the snow. A mix of panic and fear assaults your body, almost foreign in its intensity.

You don’t remember feeling the world go sideways, but you notice the sting of the snow against your scales while you try to breathe, try to not throw up from the nausea.

Nugget is at your side, warbling in concern, even if he can barely stay standing himself. You should probably hug him at some point. You both need it.

“Are you alright?!”

The face that slowly fills your vision is familiar in its shape, but near forgotten in its youth. The innocent yet overconfident boy, in wholly unsuited wear for the bitter cold.

You laugh. You laugh of panic, of joy, perhaps of sheer madness. Alphinaud seems quite concerned. ‘Tis probably a good idea to be.

“Need a hand up, lass?”

A firm grip pulls you to your feet. Your clothes are here. Your weapon is here. Even Nugs has the barding you last had on him. In fact, you feel no different at all than before.

Barely suppressed panic notwithstanding.

You know this road. It leads north, from the Observatorium to Camp Dragonhead. Where He is.

He should be. He has to be.

“What happened there?”

‘I’ve annihilated an entire world to be with my lover again, including you and Cid over there. Honestly, Hades would be proud. Mayhap I can apply for part-time Ascian.’

Of course, to actually say that would be preposterous. One might even think you’d gone completely mad.

_Perish the thought._

“Just the Echo.”

You snap a canteen into existence, spilling the rest into your faithful companion’s open beak after having had enough to clear your thoughts. Properly situating yourself in time is perhaps a good idea. ‘Tis not like the two will think you more queer than they already do by now for it.

From one of the pockets of your ornate robe, you produce the one thing that has been your lifesaver since the start of it all; a simple notepad and shard of graphite.

Your (admittedly, forever atrocious) handwriting stares back at you. ‘Bring Francel’s letter to Lord of Camp Dragonhead; inquire about airship.’

It worked.

If Haurchefant is still there. If he even is the same person. If you don’t come across as a raving lunatic. _Who even are you in this world?_ Clearly not whom you were the last time. More powerful, for starters. Wiser too, you’d hope. Certainly more unhinged.

You were fairly certain your first encounter with Garuda did not involve Akh Morns.

Questions for later.

Right now, the southern gate guards looked decidedly nervous at your approach. It takes you much longer than it should to remember why.

Au Ra. Middle of Dragonsong War. _Right._

_This will be fun to navigate all over again._

Oh, you could vaporize the poor fools with half a handwave, undoubtedly. But that would not really accomplish anything towards your real goal. If your memory serves, the kind and caring Haurchy would not appreciate having to recover a pair of his underlings with a shovel.

So you hang back and let Alphinaud ply his trade, and before long you are out of the blasted cold that threatens to freeze your tail solid and crossing the gates to the main hall.

Piercing blue meets fierce red. You cannot stop shivering as one, single thought overwhelms your mind and soul.

‘He’s here. He’s here, he’s here, _he’s here-_ ’

‘-She’s here.’

Your body acts before your brain does, respectfully bowing before approaching and handling her the letter adorned with the seal of House Haillenarte.

You haven’t blinked yet while she reads the missive, expression darkening halfway through before easing into a determined outlook, the one of a woman with a task ahead of her.

“Thank you for assisting Francel in this matter, my friend. I fear these accusations will be an issue for some time yet, but this is a start. Ah! But I forget myself! I believe there is a pressing issue you require help with?”

That smile. That godsdamned smile. The voice is so similar, too. The hair is longer, but still has the same disheveled bangs that perfectly frame those eyes that threaten to pull you in and never let go.

Why must your stomach feel like the fields of Carteneau. Why must your heart constrict like it was under the weight of the world.

She’s still _called_ Haurchefant.

She’s still wearing the same gambeson covered with chainmail that you remember. She’s still the Lord of Camp Dragonhead, it seems.

You furrow your brows in thought. _Lord_ of Camp Dragonhead. And if your Elezen naming customs don’t fail you, Haurchefant is a male name. Either there is something else at play here, or Ishgardian politics in this world are completely upside down.

“Friend? Is something amiss?”

There is that same adorable raised eyebrow like the one you knew so well. Thinking about it, ‘tis not like you find the thought of being with her objectionable, rather the oppos- Right.

Actually answer the damn woman, would you?

“Oh! I-uh, my apologies. I am merely not used to the weather yet.”

You let out a sheepish smile before rubbing your face to clear your thoughts. In the defense of your bare-faced lie, your shaking could easily be misconstrued as such. Thank the Twelve for small miracles.

Then again, aren’t the Twelve based on the Convocation? Wouldn’t you be an unofficial member of Eorzea’s pantheon?

Yet more questions for later.

“By the Fury, where are my manners!? You go out of your way to help a personal friend and I lack the courtesy to do naught but watch you freeze!”

You watch in wonderment as she gets up and brings a chair to place near hers, by the warmth of the hearth of the hall. Just like he did so many years ago, down to the same look of self-indignation on her face.

Yes, you can work with this.

There is naught that can stop the heat rising to your cheeks and your heart when she hands you her own mug of hot chocolate once you’re seated, with a disarming smile to go with it. If there were any doubt that she held the same kind soul of the man you so loved, none can be had now.

“I am looking for the Enterprise. It’s an airship that was last seen on the eve of the Battle of Carteneau, our sources indicate it likely crashed around this area.”

Voice cracks kept to a minimum, you can do this.

“Hmm. I fear it might prove difficult to find eyewitnesses to the event, given that Ishgard was involved in its own issues at the time. Nevertheless! I’ll make inquiries and share with you aught I learn.”

No. Don’t start crying yet, for gods’s sake, she just met you.

“In the meantime, enjoy the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead, my friend! I shall make sure everyone is clear with that whole ‘being terrified of you being a Dravanian’ business.”

And here comes that genuine, ‘I will do my best for you to be happy to the extent of my abilities and beyond’ smile. Does it look even better on her face? _How does it look even better on her face?_

Godsdamnit. You need to find an excuse to leave. _Now._

“I will make myself useful in the meantime, then!”

You smile back, doing your best to keep your tears in. You can’t just leave like that though. Not when your heart is screaming at you.

But you can at least do so while already turned around so you don’t completely break down.

“And Haurchefant? Thank you.”

You’ll just find something to do outside. If your memory doesn’t fail you, there should be plenty of people needing help with assorted tasks around the camp. Where your heart isn’t shouting at you to grip that woman’s chainmail and never let go.

* * *

Nugget’s curious cry brings you out of your inner thoughts while coming back to the camp from one of tasks you managed to find to keep yourself busy.

To your side, a figure clad in black rides her own chocobo. One that looks exactly like your own companion. You smile.

Figures than even Esteem would ride just a normal copy of Nuggs. There is no dark side to the lovable thing, only care.

“All in all, I’d say it worked out pretty well. Didn’t think you’d be such a gay disaster though.”

And of course that taunting grin is back on her face. Why wouldn’t it.

“What did you expect me to do? Not be attracted to Haurchefant just because she’s a bit different this time around? You know as well as I do that his appearance was only ever a bonus.”

You dislike raising your voice to be heard over the wind and crunch of the snow. You always did, for any reason.

“If I remember quite right, and I do, you did enjoy riding that girthy bonus until passing out.”

You don’t bother looking back at her. You know she’s grinning even wider now.

“Not like he needed it, even! Maybe you’ll be fine after all, if the times he made you scream his name while you near on suffocated him with your legs is anything like the skills she has.”

Heat very much rises to both your cheek and below your stomach at both the memories and implications, but you refuse to validate her teasings with a response.

“Then again, perhaps…”

You don’t like that tone. It’s too self-satisfied.

“Perhaps what?”

You expected to see that cheshire grin, but it doesn’t annoy you any less.

“Nothing, just a hunch. But if I am right-”

You shake your head in dismay.

“Have you come for the sole purpose of discussing indecencies?”

Her smile vanishes.

“Nay. How are you holding up, girl?”

You take your time wondering about that yourself. And to be frank, you are…  
Fine. At least, better than you have been in years. You have an actual goal other than ‘Do what people want me to do.’ After having murdered millions.

This probably makes you a hypocrite of some sort. And honestly, right now? You don’t care.

“Good. Also?”

You look back at her.

“I love you. Never forget that.”

You watch her visage disappear into the air. Truly, you do remember that. ‘Tis probably why you’re even here in the first place, is it not?

* * *

“So, that is where we currently stand. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two for Lord Haurchefant’s inquiries to be complete, we will see what our next course of action is then.”

You watch Alphinaud’s usual tick of holding his chin and tilting his head down in thought. Only now tinted by unearned confidence once more.

“‘Tis a shame the Echo is so fickle in its activations. Are you quite sure you cannot will it to work? The weather in this place is truly horrendous.”

In all fairness, he does have a point, even if an unknowing one. You remember all of this. You know the Enterprise lies deep inside the Stone Vigil. Hells, you’re not even sure the whole debacle with the corrupted crystals is even necessary. If push comes to shove, your Garuda-Egi should be able to open you a passage to the Howling Eye.

Right now even, if you so wished.

But you do not. For one, the more you change events from the ones you knew, the less said knowledge avails you in the future. Past. Future-past.

Semantics.

For two, you know Haurchefant is here, minor differences notwithstanding, and it would take a truly cataclysmic event for you to forgo this opportunity. The Lady of the Vortex can wait.

Lost in your musings as you so often are, it almost passes you by the fact that Alphinaud was more or less whingeing at you to ‘get on with it’.

_The arrogant little twerp._

“That is not. How. The Echo. **Works.** ”

You feel an unhealthy amount of satisfaction at how he would fall backwards if he cowered back any more at your advance. The intentional growling subtones in your voice probably helped.

So did the aetherial wings of your improved Dreadwyrm Trance extending to your sides, which you have just noticed. As likely did the entire camp. Is that Haurchefant you just noticed staring at you from near the doors to the main hall?

_Bollocks._

You sigh in defeat. This is starting to become a right mess.

“Anyroad. I have goods to deliver and reports to make. I suggest you take a page out of my book and make yourself useful, like Cid has. I am sure they could do with more firewood.”

* * *

Despite some wary glances and shaking hands, the residents of Dragonhead seem surprisingly calm after your little display. You can only guess Haurchefant truly managed to put them at ease regarding your looks.

Comparatively, of course.

The winds are picking up with the fall of the light however, and your scales already itch from how dry they are getting.

Might as well go talk to her and get out of this weather. Not like you truly needed an excuse, but at least this way you have one if needed.

The hall of Camp Dragonhead is more empty than usual, likely on account of supper being served over at the kitchens. And true to the form you know, Haurchefant is so deep in paperwork that she likely did not even notice it.

“May I be of help, Milord?”

You’re already smiling. Of course you’re already smiling. Dear gods, Esteem was right.

“Ah, the gallant adventurer returns from her journey! Take a seat my friend. I am afraid all the help I can accept at the moment is your company. Though I have a proposition for you, if you’ll indulge me later.”

_No_. Bad imagination. _Stay_. You are fully aware that’s not what she meant.

Apparently that doesn’t mean you won’t blush anyway.

You deliberately place your chair close to hers. She doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not like you want to interrupt her work either. So this is fine. Then again, all is fair in love and war, so nothing ventured, nothing gained.

And you do need to get this done anyway.

You don’t specifically _need_ to be so deliberate in applying oil to your exposed scales and tail, but having Haurchefant constantly stealing mesmerized looks your way is too good to pass up. You stop yourself from grinning in victory.

Just about.

“Scented Linseed Oil.”

You watch her jolt to attention. It’s nice knowing that even on another timeline, the effect is the same.

“My apologies, what?”

“What I use, for my scales. You seemed interested.”

Fine, you are grinning just a _little_ bit.

“Oh, no! I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable, friend. ‘Tis just, I have never seen one of your kind in person before. I am unfamiliar with your rituals.”

Her embarrassment does get a chuckle out of you. Gods, how you missed this. Just being with Haurchefant.

“You did not, at all. Our scales merely need oiling to stay supple, especially in this sort of weather. Otherwise, they get dry and scratchy, which can be very uncomfortable. Here-”

You see the blush slowly creeping up her cheeks when you take off one of her gloves and guide her fingers to the scales on your wrist. Oh, this is far too precious.

“I have always imagined them to be much harder, like a Dravanian’s.”

“Nay, most are not. That’s not to say they can’t be. These, for example-”

You turn around in your chair enough to show the spiked scales that cover the beginning of the top of your tail.

“-are hard and sharp enough to rend skin. But they’re few and far between. In contrast, the ones on the underside are even softer than average.”

You position said underside of the tail within her arm’s reach. Haurchefant’s touch is gentle, like if she were handling the finest of glasswork.

“They are each so small and soft, ‘tis almost like touching skin.”

You bite your finger to not get carried away by the sensation. Your voice still comes out on the indecent side of breathy.

“They are also more sensitive than average.”

Your hand hides your self-satisfied smile at the sight of her blush near-instantly going from ‘mild’ to ‘up to ears’. Those beautiful, slender, sensitive ears. Somewhere in the back of your mind, Esteem is torn between agreeing and groaning.

“Pray forgive me, I was not aware! I-”

You pat her hand which had recoiled in a seeming mix of urgency and reluctance.

“There is nothing to forgive, my friend. You did not hurt me at all.”

The innocence behind your smile is so false, you could probably run for a public office somewhere. You do feel slightly guilty for being a bit manipulative, but on the other hand, you scant had many chances to make Haurchefant act like that the first time around. ‘Tis fun.

Gods know you haven’t experienced that in years.

Your musings are interrupted by a growling sound coming from your silver-haired beau’s stomach best described as ‘tectonic’. You could probably do with a meal as well, none the less for the energy that is spent in this region merely staying warm.

“By the Fury, what time is it?”

You take a small measure of pride at watching her finally notice that the hall is mostly empty and berating herself for missing supper once again. That must mean your shameless flirting is at least as distracting as paperwork.

Truly the highest praise. Time to take responsibility for your evil deeds.

“Fear not Milord, I shall embark on a quest for sustenance! I am an adventurer, after all!”

You smile at your own flourish, an uncharacteristic spring in your step as you make your way out. Simply enjoying being a maiden in love not a day after genociding an entire timeline. ‘Tis a very good thing you are seemingly too broken to feel conflicted about that.

“Please friend, there is no need! I am able to find something once I’m done with-”

The realization that she’d made no progress with her current task in the last Halone knows how many minutes slowly sinks in.

“-if I am done with this yet tonight. Adventurer does not mean servant!”

You turn towards Haurchefant while walking backwards, genuine, if probably unhinged, joy gracing your features.

“‘Tis true, I need not do this. I merely wish to.”

And that is the most important thing in the world.

* * *

Just as you remember from many a night before, Medguistl had kept a hearty portion of food warm for the forgetful young Lord. ‘Would that she followed her own advice’, was still her usual complaint. Your heart is warmed when you find that she’d also set a portion aside for you.

‘’Twould be the manners of a goat if I did not offer someone who worked her tail off to help Dragonhead as soon as she arrived at least a decent meal.’

That is how you find yourself dining at Haurchefant’s side, though you suspect were she not forcing herself to eat at a reasonable pace for matters of etiquette, her supper would be long gone. As for yourself, the usual fare of Dragonhead held more of a sentimental value than anything else.

Not to disrespect the cook of course; that woman did wonders with the supplies available at all times. Ishgardian cooking was just never your favourite. Lacked variety and spices.

Mayhaps that was your Bismark-trained culinarian side talking. Hopefully you’d be able to put it to use for Haurchefant; you never quite got the chance before. Half of the reason you took up the ladle was a way to forget your sorrows after-

-after he _died_. Not that it helped much anyroad.

Ironic that ‘The stomach is the path to a man’s heart’ is the saying. It should work for a woman too.

That stray thought brings back the questions from before. If you were going to dive back into this mess that is Ishgard, might as well get things sorted out beforehand. Plus, in the meantime since you last looked, she was just about done eating.

“Say, Lord Haurchefant? May I ask a possibly awkward question?”

Oh bloody hells there’s that thousand suns smile again. Stupid handsome Elezen.

“Only if you drop the ‘Lord’ part, friend. You are not one of my underlings, as much as that would make the camp many a time more efficient, judging by the day’s reports; you are my equal, and I wish you to treat me as such.”

Blast your infatuated heart with a Dragonkiller. If stopping yourself from tackling the woman with an embrace wasn’t hard enough already.

“I could not help but notice that you hold that title, however. While I am no expert in Ishgardian culture, is Haurchefant not a traditionally male name? Pray do not take this as doubt of your abilities, but mere curiosity. Was I wrong to believe that your culture leans towards patriarchal?”

Your slight trepidation at offending her is soothed by her earnest smile.

“I do not at all, friend! Truth be told, I am surprised you did not ask sooner. ‘Tis a lesser known quirk of Ishgardian genetics, supposed by our scholars to be due to our long periods of isolation. While I myself am scant on specifics, the results are people of seemingly mixed sex. I was assigned male at birth thanks to my-”

She seems to be somewhat embarrassed at the realization that she’s explaining this to someone not of Ishgard. On your part, you are listening enrapturedly.

“-well, that part. Only when I began to come of age did my female side develop, and by then it would be a rather big hassle to redo all the necessary paperwork. That came with some benefits, of course.”

Somewhere, deep inside your soul, you can hear maniacal cackling. You merely nod to yourself as the pieces of the puzzle fall in place before smiling back.

“I see. I must admit, that aspect of Ishgardian culture was completely foreign to me until now. Still, I am happy we have both learned about eachother tonight Haurchefant.”

You make sure to throw in a classic ‘adjust lock of hair behind ear’. Well, horn in your case. Truly, while it wasn’t necessarily what you expected-

-and will you _shut up_ , Esteem-

-’tis not like you mind at all. For all that truly matters, she could have nothing at all between the legs and you’d still wish to spend eternity at her side.

“So am I! Ah, but ere I forget! I was hoping to proposition you for aid in a small matter. Your magicks, they are based on arcanima, are they not?”

You are glad to see her good cheer back; something about seeing uncertainty in her eyes felt very troubling. Mayhaps because ‘twas such a rare thing in the past. To answer her question, however, you gently flip open your latest incantation book of choice. With but a wave of your hand; Emerald comes into being atop the table.

And immediately tries to steal the piece of meat you still had left for dinner. Quickly stabbing it with your fork, a pitched battle of will and pulling commences. Master versus Creation, for the last piece of steak.

_“Fascinating!”_

The soft touch of Haurchefant’s hand stroking its head is enough to get the attention of the little devil. It seems to freeze for a while after looking at the young Lord, carefully sniffing her hand.

Before throwing themselves at their lap, keening loudly and rubbing their head against the startled Elezen in a near frenzy.

Mayhap it would have been best to remember that Emerald was always the aetherial creation that most mirrored your feelings. If anything, seeing how vehement it was in its display of affection only made your heart sting further.

Gods, how you wished you could simply do the same. To hold back like you were doing felt akin to a knife stuck in your heart. You manage to hold back your tears with a forced smile, though your voice is still noticeably choked.

“‘Twould seem she likes you.”

Thankfully, Haurchefant seems too distracted by the small being to notice. In truth, you want to tell her everything. To not have to pretend you have just met, to just be able to be held by her, be enveloped in her scent, her warmth-

-Stop. Stop or you’ll make yourself cry again. Godsdamnit, why must you feel more emotions in a day than the last 4 years? _‘Tis exhausting._

“So she does!”

Is that-

Is she _giggling_ while petting Emerald?

The thought strikes you. You have never, ever heard Haurchefant giggle before. It is truly a beautiful sound, like bells in a crisp snowy morning. So this is what Esteem really wished to see.

You falling in love with this woman. Not because she’s Haurchefant, but because she’s _herself_. Oh, for sure, they have many a similarity. ‘Tis the same soul after all. But she’s not him.

And gods forbid-

_That’s fine._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what have you gotten youself into.

Thankfully, ‘ere long the aetherial creature had settled onto Haurchefant’s lap, curled around her hand. And she caught you staring. 

Of course she did. Mercifully, she merely cleared her throat and leaned closer.

“About that request- I know this might sound queer, but are you perhaps able to summon a dragon?” 

You stare at her in disbelief. Had this Knight of Ishgard truly just asked you- in the middle of the **Dragonsong War** no less- to summon a dragon? Like one would ask their parents for a starlight gift? What sort of deranged timeline had you arrived in?

“I’m sorry ser, I fear I might need some context on that one.”

She takes a moment to run the phrase through her mind again before covering her face with her palm in consternation.

“Oh damn and blast, that sounded absurd didn’t it.” She sighed. “I apologize, what I meant is that we have a couple of newly arrived trainees in the camp, you see. While we can train them against blade and spell, fighting a dragon is something else altogether.”

Ah, now it makes far more sense. You nod in agreement.

“My hope was that with your abilities, we could train them against such enemies in a relatively safe environment. To be completely honest, they could also do with a lesson in humility, which your creations should be plenty enough to give them. So, what say you, friend?”

You ponder for a second. You certainly _could_ , _but-_

“While summoning dragons happens to be my specialty, I fear that might not be a good idea, Haurchefant. Mostly because said specialty happens to be Bahamut, and I am not sure I can reduce its destruc-”

You stop the explanation halfway through thanks to having to hurriedly invoke your Scholar's accoutrements on account of the woman somehow managing to choke herself with hot chocolate.

“Wait wh-” A cough. “Bahamu-” Another cough. Your cast of Esuna finishes. 

“Breathing first, please.”

She takes a deep breath, blinking at the sudden relief.

“Thank you, friend. By the fury, did you say your specialty was _summoning the dreadwyrm itself?”_

You smile at her bewilderment. You had no idea not being on the back foot of a relationship all the time was this entertaining.

“That it happens to be, yes. Granted, ‘tis more of an avatar of its being, but I can assure you that it would serve poorly as a training device. Might I suggest Ifrit instead, if all that’s needed is claw and fire?”

Haurchefant ponders for a moment. Either that, or she’s letting her eyes wander over your new, significantly less heavily clothed visage. Possibly both. 

“Well, I dare not assume to know your arcanima better than yourself, so Ifrit it is.” She smiles. “I was not aware of your multiple talents in magicks, however! That healing spell was most impressive. Pray tell me about it!”

You think about returning to your Summoner’s attire, but you certainly will not be the first to bare some chill in their legs to attract a partner. Easy conversation fills the time while you explain the differences and similarities between the two academias until the late hours of the night. 

Eventually the point comes where you stand both too tired and too cold to continue however, and you excuse yourself to the chambers that were allocated for you, thankfully not having to brave the bitter wind in a miniskirt to reach the barracks.

The hall falls into the deathly silence that tends to follow late night paperwork while Haurchefant forces herself to finish the last few pages. But something keeps nipping at her focus.

“Corentiaux, was she- actually flirting with me?”

Once more this night, a hand exasperatedly covers the face of an Elezen.

“Milord, the only way she could have been any clearer would be to climb atop you then and there.”

Indignation colours her features. “Well, you’ll forgive me for being a bit lost in this case! You are well aware how I don’t tend to get this far, that any woman that seems to fancy me changes her mind once they find out about my condition!”

The older man shrugged

“To be fair Sir, that’s more on account of, unlike your previous suitors, and forgive my Coerthan for a moment, that woman not seeming to be a _vapid whore._ ”

Her eyes widen at the wording. “Corentiaux!”

“I can only be so flowery towards those harpies, Milord.”

She runs a hand through her hair, entirely failing at placing the strands in any other configuration than their usual.

“I am happy about this, and by the Fury she’s both attractive and interesting, but-”

“But thanks to her more draconic features, you are afraid any proper connections would cause friction between your family and the Holy See. So the true question is-”

“My good Halonic morals say no-” She crosses her arms in consternation.

“-but your complete disregard for anything religious says yes.”

Haurchefant sighs in relief, smiling at her old friend. “I knew you were my second in command for a reason.”

Corentiaux’s amusement only reaches his eyes. “I’m afraid someone has to be, Milord.”

* * *

  
  
  


Death.

So much death, all around you. Everyone you’d ever cared for or loved.

Alisaie, your best friend. Her lifeless body on the ground, after commiting one of the heroic sacrifices she so despised. _To save you_.

Y’shtola, the dearest sister you’ve never had. Gone forever after cheating death one too many times. Naught to remember her by but her final words, her wish for you to not give up. _And yet you did._

And of course, Haurchefant. His ever-loving eyes struggling to focus on you one last time. Blood that doesn’t stop flowing no matter how desperately you and Selene try to heal him. His request to see your smile one last time. _And even that you could not do._

Over and over again, you see their loss. You feel the despair, the fear, the pain of losing those that made everything worth it. What was the point of being a Warrior of Light if all it gained you was pain?

Why won’t he stop bleeding? -‘Friend?’- You’ve healed far worse than this, with far less of an effort -’friend, please, wake up!’- , but Haurchefant doesn’t stop bleeding, _he never stops bleedi-_

“Wake up!”

You gasp for air, jolting upright in bed. Your dilated pupils take a moment to adjust to the light coming through the open door and reflecting off of locks of silvery hair. Your heart hammers in your chest while you remember where you are, _when_ you are. And who she is.

“My apologies, you seemed to be in so deep a nightmare that I could hear from the hall. Is there aught I can-”

You cut her off by wrapping your arms around her shoulders and sobbing. The sensible part of you knows you should not do this. That she won’t understand. That you might be ruining everything.

That part is overruled by the one that has you clinging to her while endlessly whimpering that you’re sorry between sobs and wails. You’re sorry for letting them die, you’re sorry for letting everyone die, you’re sorry for killing everyone else just to be here. It hurts too much inside, you can’t hold it anymore. At least you don’t explain as much, you just settle for repeating the same thing.

“I’m sorry.”

Haurchefant is confused, but she holds you close and lets you wet her undershirt with tears anyway. Her questions will wait. She doesn’t know why seeing you like this hurts her heart as much as it does, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“It’s alright. Everything is alright.”

It obviously wasn’t, if you held such grief within you. But she’d try to make it otherwise anyway.

In minutes, your tears are finally spent and your breathing is calm again. Slowly, you let go of her, looking to the side in a mix of embarrassment and consternation. Esteem looks back at you with a concerned expression.

“Well, I guess the Miqo’te is out of the bag now.”

It surprises you to see Haurchefant immediately whip around, unsheathing a dagger from her back and falling into a fighting stance between you and your Id. You don’t remember him carrying a weapon at all times before. 

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

Esteem at least bothers putting her hands up in a sign of peace. “Easy there, gorgeous. I am but a part of her.” The Elezen just glares at her for a moment, before taking a step back.

“Friend? What does she mean?” Her guard never wavers for a moment, dagger ready to make every attempt to parry the humongous greatsword that your alter ego has strapped to her back in your defense. You sigh at the sight. You can take the timeline out of the needless, heroically protective knight…

“She speaks true, Haurche.” You get up, groaning a bit at the stiffness of your body. The crisp sunrise has just begun to illuminate the outside, unimpeded in cloudless skies.

“Think of her as a sort of- instinctive summon, if you will. She means us no harm.” 

After a last measuring look at the apparition, she sheathes her blade. For some reason, the fact that she had one so well hidden in the first place worries you. Your shade, for her part, takes joy in theatrically kneeling at Haurchefant’s feet and kissing the top of her hand.

“Name’s Esteem, my fair lady.” Her attempt to out-knight Haurchefant in her (yours) diminutive stature would be comedic were it not for the ponzes of heavy plated armour covering her body combined with the smoldering look and sideways smile she gave to the woman. 

“Enthralled, and at your service.”

You did not expect this version of your past lover to blush into temporary speechlessness, but file it under useful information for later. Mayhaps ‘twould be time for some practice in the dark arts after all. 

“Excuse me, but- Esteem? As in, of the self type?” The poor woman seems rather befuddled. Granted, for someone not versed in the insanity that is how your mind-

“Allegedly.” The Dark Knight grins.

Works, it wo- You pause in annoyance.

“Did you just interrupt my internal musing out loud?” Your face hardens in vexation at the gall of this woman.

“Oh come now, you slip into those far too often and we both know it.” She shrugs. Perhaps she has a point, but to point it out like that is rather impolite.

You sigh, shaking your head before addressing your company, still futilely trying to make sense of it all. “Quite. I’d advise not minding her, she doth protest too much.” To be entirely fair, that was her _job_ as the part of yourself that seeks to be happy. Didn’t mean she did not sometimes make things far more difficult in the end.

“Well? When will you tell her the truth?” You glare at her. _Like now, it seems._

Haurchefant’s eyebrows arise in equal curiosity and worry. “Is there aught I should know? Friend?” And of course. Even with Esteem placing a proverbial knife at your throat and handing it to the woman, she still metaphorically turns it around out of concern for _you_. Your goal of keeping them alive will be arduous then, if only because that soul is truly too good for this world.

“Many a thing, actually.” You can hear your own heartbeat in your veins, another point of no return soared past. You’d been crossing those a lot recently.

“None that cannot wait until at least tonight, I assure you. It will take-” You ponder for a moment, making a quick mental list of all you’d need to explain. It’s not small. “- _some_ hours to fully tell, and I do not wish to leave the camp without a commander first thing in the morning.”

She seems to wish to argue for a moment, before resigning and sighing in defeat. “You make a fair point. I will make sure to have some time set aside around supper then, like yesterday?” She’s aware that her personal concerns for you must come after the matters of her duty. That does not mean she has to enjoy it. 

“Yes, that sounds perfect. Please do not worry overmuch, ‘tis no cause for danger. Merely- context, so to say.” It was a bit- nay, a _lot_ of a stretch, but not inaccurate. You merely had to hope that upon hearing your tale, Haurchefant didn’t either set the guards on you or call the chirurgeons.

Or both.

“My work here is done, then!” Esteem smiled broadly, a gauntleted fist hitting the palm of her other, equally gauntleted, hand. The sunlight which before illuminated her now was absorbed into an ever more formless shade, before long dissipating into dark motes and being reabsorbed into your being. ‘Twas just like her, to ‘tell and run’ so to say. The silver-haired knight simply stared at you.

“I will assume that’s normal.” Going by her tone of voice, that alone was an effort.

“Quite!” You smile back, enjoying the unnatural upturn in your mood thanks to the small rejoining. “Shall we proceed with the training session we’ve discussed yesterday once fast has been broken?” 

She stares at you for a second to process the abrupt mood change, but smiles at you in return regardless. “Sounds good, there should be about an hour even before that if you wish to refresh yourself.” Her smile dies a bit, however. “Will you be alright, friend?”

You stop yourself from hugging the angel in Elezen form in front of you, if only through enormous willpower. Instead, you settle on holding one of her hands between yours, squeezing it softly. “Because of you, yes. Thank you, Haurchefant.” You give in to the nagging at the back of your soul, gently kissing the top of her hand before letting go. 

Your reward is a repeat of the blushing the action caused before, if only this time inaction through shock is replaced by embarrassed averting of the eyes and clearing of her throat. 

“Part of you indeed, it seems.” She manages to return eye contact after a second. “Still, I am glad to be of help, in a small way as I can.”

‘If only you knew’, part of you wants to say. Then again, everything going according to plan, soon she would. 

Nevermind that nothing, in the history of plans, has ever gone according to one.

* * *

  
  
  
You stare at the being of pride and fire that came out of your book. 

The several fulms tall, very much not a mere Egi being. Still utterly under your control, surely, but not exactly what you’d expected. Garuda was still just an Egi when you wielded her the day before, so what-

_The band of Amalj’aa nearby stare aghast while, instead of engaging in deadly combat with the being, you simply approach it. Your will subsuming its, forcing the Lord of the Inferno himself to kneel before you. This broken thing, this false idol, a_ **_god?_ ** _The mere thought insults you. Nay, it will serve you as all that it is, a tool and naught else. You open your tome in almost pity._

-You shake your head, clearing your senses after the familiar dizziness of the Echo washes over you. Did you just see into your own alternate past? Did you **temper a primal?**

What the void kind of timeline _is_ this?

Under the questioning gaze of the veteran knight overseeing the training session, you file it under ‘questions for later’. A quick glance at the available incantations to command the beast tells you that it’s more or less what you’re used to, at least. 

Just significantly more intimidating, judging by the clinking of shaking chainmail coming from the direction of the wide-eyed squires which are meant to go up against your summon. Oh well, sucks to be them. 

You nod to the knight, ordering the being to rush in but a second after he initiates the combat. All but two trainees are sent flying by the horizontal cyclone of flames, and even those are only standing by sheer luck. 

This is going to take a while.

By the time the bell is out, all five young knights are far more familiar in how to battle against fire and fang. They are also having trouble standing up, which leads to the end of the exercise. 

For your own part, you decide that the upgrade from a mere Egi has both good and bad points. It’s certainly even more powerful, and the extended reach from size alone is a clear advantage. But it’s also far more… conspicuous, to say the least, and its bulk can be ungainly in certain situations. You’ll learn to work with it.

“Magnificent, my friend! These are lessons I am sure they shan’t forget!” An unbidden smile rises to your face when you turn around at the sound of her voice. ‘Tis just a soothing sound, there are no two ways about it. 

“Nay, I am just glad to be of use. I have many and one reasons to repay you, Haurchefant.” You know you are being willfully mysterious at this point, but godsdamnit, you are allowed to have fun sometimes. Her expression when trying to decide what you meant by that exactly is too precious. 

“Worry not, all will be explained in due time.”

You have become far too adept at feigning innocence. The daughter of house Fortemps, for her part, simply smiles once realizing she’s being played for a fool.

“I see. Nevertheless, an idea has come to me to perhaps speed up the search for your missing airship. While my official inquiries have been less than fruitful, perhaps if you spoke to certain individuals of influen-”

“Milord!” The approaching sentry from the northern gate makes no motion to stand on protocol, jogging towards the two of you at a rapid pace.

Within the second, her demeanor changes entirely. Gone is the friendly, enthusiastic knight. In its place, stands the responsible but reasonable commander of Camp Dragonhead. Sharpened eyes, mildly furrowed eyebrows. ‘Tis still somewhat surprising to look at, even if it’s a mirror image of the person you knew.

“Report, my good man.” She closes the rest of the distance herself apace. For your part, you rack your mind for memories of what this could entail. It’s been many years and tragedies since you’ve been here before, and you curse your own brain silently at its uselessness. 

“Ser, our patrol sighted Lord Francel and a troupe of Haillenarte knights on their way to Steel Vigil, far too few to be an organized force.” The poor man takes a second to get some breath in his lungs. “We attempted to communicate with them, to no avail. The wind o’er north has picked up. If they stay on the course we’ve seen them in-”

Her brows furrow further. “Then they shall run into a wall of dragons ‘ere they reach the gates of the fortress. Fury take me, the bloody fool!” 

Slowly, the thread is woven once more in your mind. In a vain attempt to clear his family’s name, the younger lord had nearly gotten himself and several knights killed the last time around. And it seems he was aiming for a repeat. At least you know what to do this time.

The shrill sound of your whistling breaks the ruminations Haurchefant had herself in for a way to solve this problem. Within seconds, Nugget is galloping your way from around a building, last bite of krakka root still in his beak.

“I will take care of it!” You spare the bewildered Elezen a quick nod as you sprint past her, Nuggs’s speed adding to yours when you grab the reins and swing atop in a fluid motion. With but an order from your lips, your faithful companion leaps into the air and starts carrying you to the skies like he was born to do so. 

You’re past the northern walls of Dragonhead by the time you feel Ifrit’s aether rejoining yours. Though the winds are murderous, the skies are plenty clear to see Dravanians circling both ahead and below in the distance, likely frenzied at the invasion of their territory by Francel and his knights. You could order your chocobo to swoop down and avoid confrontation while you seek your objective-

You feel it inside you. Anger, fury, indignation, _vengeance_ given form. The aether of a being of pure retribution flowing through your body, spilling forth like a waterfall, taking form at your side.

A part of your soul shrugs her shoulders. ‘Or that. That works too.’

Back at dragonhead, lord and servants alike squint their eyes at the burst of aether on the sky, amazed and fearful murmurs filling the air. Haurchefant’s far more towards the former.

“By Halone, she was not kidding.”

The roar of the Dreadwyrm’s effigy flying side by side with a chocobo and its rider was the only response she got.

* * *

  
  
  
The fourth- or was it the fifth?- Aevis tumbled lifelessly to the cold ground below. Between you and Bahamut, the few airborne dravanians that did not get torn apart by Akh Morns now beat their wings in a frantic rush to get away.

As a bonus, you’d learned that when said spell was not targeted at something near the ground, the effect was a spheric explosion of aether instead of a vertical beam. Good thing your first target was not closer.

You’d spotted the group you came to rescue on the ground, but before you could make your way there, a familiar roar echoed through the old fortress. Twin dragons, _proper_ dragons this time, followed by a smaller one. You didn’t have to order Nugget to avoid the incoming ice spell, the experienced bird flying in unpredictable patterns as your two groups closed the distance. 

A maelstrom of aether filled the skies through crisscrossing spells, the weaving trails of ice and fire drawing a crazed waltz. You’d focused so much on aiming your bursts of aether at a moving target and making your familiar do the same, it took you far too long to realize that the less impressive dragon had dipped out of the fight halfway through, flying a straight line towards-

-towards Francel. And was already so close that even a slightly errant blast might hit them both. 

_Bollocks._

For good or ill, you heard someone else (of sorts) speaking through your voice.

“Remember how we kept putting off learning to be a Dragoon?”

The visualization of the insanity that Esteem is suggesting flashes through your mind. You grimace, despite telling Nugs to dive towards the crucial enemy as soon as you are off his back. 

“This is an awful idea!” A last blast of your own hits one of the larger dravanians, its companion currently being torn apart in an aerial melee by a rather frustrated dreadwyrm.

You feel the greatsword’s weight in your hands, the reassuring bulk of heavy armour cladding you against the bitter winds. You focus on your target, now below you after losing consciousness briefly.

“And you’re an awful bloody shot!”

You leap, reddish dark energy gathering in your free hand before you absorb it mid-fall. Thankfully, the aetherial link with Bahamut is now second nature to you, the being still in the fight even as you feel your reason fraying at the edges in exchange for power. Power used to spin your body as you fall, darkness following you like an unholy comet while your sword extends-

-chopping the head of the beast clean off its neck.

Of the corner of your eye, you see your faithful chocobo ripping the throat of its own adversary with its beak after dazing it with the most vicious kick you’d ever seen one of the birds deliver, all before even touching the ground. You take a second to smile in pride at the sight before being rudely interrupted by yourself.

“Do these aetherial wings of yours even work!?”

You turn your head in horror to see the white ground approaching at a very uncomfortable pace.

“SHITTING ARS-”

* * *

  
  
  


Darkness. Imprisoning you. All that you see- well, nothing really. That’s what you come back to. That and cold. There is rather a lot of weight on all sides keeping you in place, which means you’re likely stuck in snow.

No matter, you’ve been around the block with the Manderville family for many a year, which has given you plenty of opportunity to learn how to dislodge yourself from the ground. First step is figuring out which way is up, a harder task than one might assume in these circumstances. 

You can’t help but be distracted for a second at the memories of all the escapades throughout the realm. 

Such a shame that they all died. Explosions and high impacts are hilarious- until they very suddenly and dramatically _aren’t._

‘Good job putting your own mood down.’ Sighing, you try to focus on what way your saliva tends to go inside your mouth to find out where _down_ is, before you feel something yanking you by the greave on your foot. 

A short rush of snow later, you find yourself face to feet. The armored and clawed feet of Nugget, which is currently holding you upside down with its beak. 

“Kheh?”

You smile. “Yes Nugs, you can put me down now. Thank you.”

“Kweh!” His pleased chirp covers the sound of clanking armour hitting the snow when you fall into a heap. Good thing no one else is around to see the great Warrior of Light’s perfect landing.

“Ah, adventurer! There you are!” Francel’s voice resonates through the crisp air.

_Nevermind then._

“Lord Francel, are you wounded? What about your knights?” You get up, steel swapped for thin fabric while Eos comes into being at your side. The result is a young lord tripping over his own feet and just about managing to avoid a face full of the ever-present snow. 

Ye gods, your scholar outfit isn’t _that_ scandalous. All it shows is some cleavage and thighs.

Alright, maybe a rather lot of thighs. And the form-fitting nature of everything else doesn’t leave much to the imagination. But still! These people really need to get out more.

“N-nay, friend. Some scrapes and bruises at worst. The Aevis that had engaged us were diverted at your timely arrival.” Is he blushing? Oh gods, he’s blushing. “Rather a spectacular event, to see an aerial engagement like that.” 

You shrug, snapping your heavier furs into being while the rest of his group arrives. No point making things more complicated than they need be. “That is good to hear. What caused you to embark on this crusade, pray tell? Those spurious charges?” You know it probably is, but never hurts to double check for changes. 

Time travel is tricky, it turns out.

“Aye. They are ridiculous, I’ve always done only what’s best for Ishgard and my friends!” His head dips in dismay. “But that seems to matter little to Inquisitor Guillaime. He seems to derive joy in laying charges against my house, yet there is very little I can do against his word.” 

His hands tighten into fists, though the lordling doesn’t seem to notice. “Several good people are gone now, and it seems I must be next.”

Ah yes, that whole ploy. Using Ishgardian’s own blind faith against them. Deviously clever, and if it wasn’t for the death of innocents that it caused, you’d be jealous to not have devised it yourself.

‘Tis almost funny that the love of your life stems from a city you can barely stand. Of course, they are not all unreasonable, monstrous bigots. No one group is.

But that does not make their deeds as a whole any less heinous. The shadows of the massacre of 1562 still covered almost all Xaela-Ishgardian relationships in distrust and sometimes outright hate.

Oh, shades of grey. Always making things far more complex than you’d want them to be.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the present company once more. “Has he only arrived recently?” You spread some fine sand onto a patch of nugget’s feathers covered in dragon blood, ruffling them to make sure all the sticky substance has something else to bond to instead of freezing onto your companion. He titters in appreciation.

“That he has, why?” The naive elezen looks at you. Oh, to be young and stupid.

“How hard is it to impersonate an inquisitor? Say, using glamours?” It’s a bit of a dangerous step you’re taking, meddling with the sequence of fate like this. But then again, this time seems to be a complete mess anyway. ‘Tis your turn to set things in motion.

You watch the expression of dawning realization in his face, coloured with a fair portion of disbelief. “But- wait, that could not be! What manner of fiend could benefit from this?”

You stop your palm from meeting your face in dismay. Babe steps. “What group hates Ishgardians so much as to take joy in turning their own faith against them, while knowing about it enough to be sure it would work?”

“Oh.” Francel’s face falls. “That heretics would be behind this makes a fair amount of sense. But what have they done to the real Inquisitor then?”

You shrug. “My guess is that his body is lying somewhere under the snow at the bottom of a ravine. Not necessarily hard places to find around these parts.” Granted, you could be entirely wrong if this timeline is not like your own, but it’s a likely chance either way. 

“How would we go about finding it? Naught less than presenting that body will make anyone believe in us, rather it would make things much worse!” His pacing was interrupted at the arrival of his knights, one in particular with a rather pronounced limp. You ponder how to go about manipulating these events while helping the soldier atop Nugget.

“I do believe the most effective way would be to retrace the man’s steps since arriving in Coerthas. Were I a heretic, I’d strike after he left the gates of firmament, but before he made contact with anyone here.” You tap your cheek in thought. 

“We should speak with Haurchefant about all this, regardless.” You catch the lordling’s nod from the corner of your sight while the reunited group sets off back towards Dragonhead. 

* * *

  
  
  


Haurchefant’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s risky, but I have to admit it to be the best chance we have. I still don’t like it.” She sighed, closing her eyes.

“Take heart, Lord Greystone. Cid and I will be trailing them, and if necessary we will intervene before harm comes to Lord Francel.” Alphinaud reassured the taller Elezen, though to not much effect. “We will keep you and yours informed via the Warrior of Light’s linkpearl, bear no doubt.”

“Please Haurche, let me do this. Even if I am acquitted, this monster masquerading as Guillaime will continue to sentence innocents to their deaths. We have the opportunity to end this, here and now.” You take a small step to the side to avoid Francel’s enthusiastic gestures that accompany his plea. He’s her childhood friend, no doubt.

You gently tap her gauntlet, nodding in affirmation once she has her eyes on you. “If aught happens, I can be there in minutes atop Nugget. This will work.”

A faint smile answers you, though it’s gone before anyone else can see. “Very well. We shall start after noon. Francel will contact Guillaime through inquisitor Brigie, while Alphinaud and Cid tail them. Once we are sure he’s away from Whitebrim, the Warrior of Light and I shall ride there to find the corpse of the real inquisitor, and use it to gather the support of Lord Drillemont.”

The rest of the group, gathered around the meeting table of the hall of Camp Dragonhead, nod in unison.

“Afterwards, we will ride to meet the impostor and Francel near Witchdrop, together with Inquisitor Brigie. ‘Tis likely that violence will break out, but subduing them should be no issue. If something happens beforehand, our friend-” She locks blue eyes in your direction- “shall take care of it. We’ll meet here before starting. Dismissed.” Once more you see her trying to adjust her hair in vain. Is it a nervous tick? You file that question for later, before heading out.

Or you try to, before being accosted by your companions. 

“Say, not that I doubt your plan, ‘tis a rather good one. But, pray tell, how are you so sure of where to find the corpse?” Though Alphinaud hides his concern somewhat well, you can see the tells from a mile away after spending so many years near him. Granted, a different him, but the differences seem to be academic as best as you can tell. You’re not quite sure why, but a sly grin adorns your face while you pat his head with not a small amount of condescension. 

“Trust and wait, little one. Trust and wait.”

Force of habit makes you walk off afterwards, but force of habit of _whom?_ You perk your- well, horns, to catch his muttering behind you. 

“I hate it when she does that.” Though you can’t see, he takes great pain to fix his hair in its previous shape.

“Because of your hair?” Cid asks, amusement clear in his voice.

“No, because that means she’s already seen what will happen and knows she’s right. Bloody Echo.” You can just about hear the pout.

More importantly, you now have even more questions about who _you_ were before the current you arrived.

‘Maybe you know less about time travel than you _should._ ’

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“There.” You carefully peek around the chilled bark of a tree at the forms of a fake Inquisitor escorting a young lord eastward, away from Whitebrim.

“So they are. We should move anon.” The female knight hidden behind another trunk is clearly nervous. Understandable, when her childhood friend was at stake.

“Hold, Haurchefant. We must be sure.” Her black-feathered steed paced impatiently, mirroring the emotions of its rider. The knight she knew had never mentioned that the flying bird he’d gifted to the summoner was  _ his own personal, hand raised chocobo. _

Of course he wouldn’t think twice of such an act. 

You were fairly sure he’d have gladly given his own life, had you asked for it. Hells, he did so when you  _ hadn’t _ , after all. You could probably have taken the attack and kept going without much issue.

But he simply wasn’t willing to risk it. His life before yours, at any cost. 

The cost, in the end, was that of an entire world- or what was left of one, anyroad. Mayhaps he’d be disappointed if he knew. Even angry.

Nay, the mere thought was preposterous. The besotted fool would blame himself first a million times, reasoning that none of it would have happened had he not caused you such grief. You shake your head.

Such idle thoughts availed you little. The past was the past, and you should focus on  _ this _ Haurchefant.  _ For those you can yet save. _ A signal from your linkpearl calls for your attention.

“Cid here. I have them in sight.” You gently touch the device fitted snugly to one of your horns, giving it the inkling of aether required for its function.

“Understood. Moving ahead.” A small nod is all that the silver haired woman needs to come out of hiding and climb atop her mount. You do the same, Nugget chirping with anticipation before both chocobos take to the sky.

* * *

  
  


_ “Take care,  _ Lord Haurchefant. Your accusation is an incredibly damning one. The word of a single lowly guard is not enough to convince me that Guillaime is a heretic in disguise.” Inquisitor Blaisie crossed her arms with a stern expression. It affected the knight little.

“That it may be, the word of  _ Ser Prunilla _ warrants further investigation. My knights are trusted, Inquisitor, and such confession is not made lightly. I will send a search party immed-” Drillemont’s argument was interrupted by one of Nugg’s patented hot landings, the lifeless body of an extra passenger haphazardly falling into an unceremonious pile at his feet.

A corpse unarguably belonging to an Inquisitor that seemed to be still very much alive, were all the dead innocents to say aught about it.

“-I see that will not be necessary.” The older Lord’s face tightened in anger at the confirmation that he’d been played for a fool. You wasted no time in dismounting and handing Blaisie the bloody encyclical the corpse held at the bottom of the ravine, undeniable proof that the man currently taking Francel to Witchdrop was a heretic.

“The body was, rather literally, at your back door- Give or take a few yalms of height. I presume official documents are a lost formality in the Inquisition nowadays?”

Your tone is a mite more nonchalant than it needs be, but the fact that you hadn’t simply blasted the fake official to dust and let the knife-ears sort it out instead of going along with the charade had taken a fair amount of patience.

Your own mind startles you for a second. Such a line of thought was unlike you, even when dooming an entire timeline to oblivion. You tell yourself ‘tis merely mounting stress.

It’d better be.

“Mind your words, Dravanian! Had you turned anything less as proof, I’d have declared you a here-” The lecture was cut short by Haurchefant’s voice overpowering hers.

“Quite, Inquisitor. Undoubtedly. But I’m afraid I have a friend to save and you have an impostor to catch. Racism must needs wait.”

Within the minute, three chocobos cut through the icy winds of Coerthas, carrying an unlikely party of two lords, a time-displaced Au Ra, and a fuming member of the most feared group within the Halonic Church.

You reached for your linkpearl once more. “How long do we have?”

“Not long enough I fear.” Alphinaud’s voice came as a whisper, white tufts of hair camouflaging against the mound of snow he hid behind. “They are about to reach the ravine.”

“Very well, intercept them. Buy me time.” Two taps of her fingers were all her loyal bird needed to enter a steep dive, trading altitude for speed. Treetops skimmed just below Nugget’s claws, snow being displaced off of the hardy leaves in his wake.

“Easy for her to say.” Cid chuckled beside the young Elezen, fitting the last ceruleum cartridge to his compact gunblade ‘ere closing the cylinder. 

* * *

  
  


Necessity is the mother of invention, goes the saying. Given how you’ve just developed a manner to use Garuda-Egi to hasten Nugget’s flight even further, it might just have a point.

You can see the debacle taking place in the quickly diminishing distance now, and since weapons are drawn, ‘tis unlikely to be going well. 

The shouting you can now hear only confirms the precarity of the situation. You can’t quite make out the words being said over the cacophony of voices-

-and when you see Francel’s figure disappearing inside the chasm, they don’t matter anymore. Shots ring out in the blinding snow, echoing against the hills and causing the fake inquisitor to start casting spells in anger, blood already dripping onto the snow.

In hindsight, the fact that the Cid of your time resorted to simple shortswords instead of a similar aetherochemical device doesn’t quite make sense, other than a misplaced desire to distance himself from the empire of his homeland.

_ Godsdamnit. _

Icy winds whip past you while your chocobo dives at full speed towards the ravine. Were you not familiar with how agile your bird is, the quickly approaching ground would be rather concerning- as it is, you simply join him in bringing your limbs as tight to your forms as you’re able. 

Your neck is strained when he comes to a screaming halt midair once between the walls of ice and rock. The sounds of battle rage on above, but try as you might, you can’t see any fresh lordling corpses at the bottom. 

“Francel! Shout if you’re alive!” You’d  _ truly _ rather not have to deal with consoling a grieving Haurchefant. A cynical mind would argue that it’d only make for better chances with her. 

Broken as you are, your soul is  _ not quite there _ yet.

The  _ last _ thing you wish to do is cause her pain. You’re all too familiar with the grief of loss to be willing to cause it on the one person you love the most, fast track to her heart or not. It doesn’t make you a better person-

-merely a slightly lesser monster.

“Adventurer! Thank the Fury! Below the overhang!” A panicked voice echoes through the rift, spiking your attention. Looking up, you see the son of house Haillenarte holding rather precariously onto the handle of a dagger sunk into the ice in haste.

A small smile of relief washes over your features. “Well, aren’t you the resourceful one!” ‘Ere long, the young man is safely atop the snow once more, hale and whole. To your surprise, the moment you dismount, Nugget immediately sprints over to the ongoing struggle, rather literally leaping into the battle to help Cid and Alphinaud.

Your heart tightens when the realization that he probably misses the people he knew other than yourself hits. You’ve effectively forced on him the choice between his master or the remaining scions. 

Not that there were many of them left at that point.

In a mere moment, Nuggs has the fake Inquisitor’s head firmly buried in the snow under a clawed foot. Muffled, enraged shouting quickly dies off once a sharp talon touches the heretic’s neck in silent promise.

A short whistle from you is all that the loyal beast needs to know to let go off his current prey, stepping back to be at your side. You hug his neck affectionately, the large black eyes that focus on you endearingly a drastic change from the merciless pools of murder the bird showed naught but a few seconds ago.

The act earns you a pleased chirp, and a gentle rub of his beak against your horns. You wish there were more that you could do for him, but at least he was happy for now.

The fake inquisitor splutters, attempting to get rid of the snow in his mouth before he sees you, standing nonchalantly with greatsword in shoulder. You quirk an eyebrow when he smiles maniacally.

“Ah, I see! Come, sister! Let us cleanse the world of the taint that is Ishgard together!” His hand is extended in invitation. Yours is struggling to not reach for your face in annoyance. 

“Oh for the love of- did Iceheart not deem any of you worthy of being taught elder dragon genealogy  _ at all!? _ ” Your voice raises in indignation. “We come from  _ Tiamat’s _ blood! Not-” Esteem’s voice stops you mid-rant.

_ Let it go. You have more important shite to do. _

Your eyes narrow at the dark haired Elezen while your body assumes your usual hanging right stance. “Just drink the flippin’ dragon blood, will you?”

His expression sharpens in response, looking towards the heavens in loud prayer. 

“Come, my brothers- grant me the strength to smite our enemies!”

A burst of aether envelops his being, the form of a large aevis emerging from within. You step forward.

“I! Am!  _ Reb-” _

His monologuing ceases rather anticlimactically when the sound of composite metal slamming against hardened scale echoes through the valley. 

The aether holding his draconic form together dissipates, revealing an unconscious man with a blunt force wound on the side of his head, fallen into a heap on the snow. Cid, who had been standing behind you with gunblade drawn the whole time, sets the striker of the weapon forward gently.

“Well. That went better than expected.”

Alphinaud looked at you pensively, before shrugging. “And with an uncharacteristic lack of gloating to boot. I shall take it gladly.”

‘Ere you can think of the implications of that phrase, the delayed trio arrives, with Haurchefant spreading her arms in joy the moment her mount has stopped.

“Magnificent execution, friend! Thanks to you, no more lives needs be lost to this farce!” 

Drillemont, for his part, bowed in gratefulness. “While I am not overly familiar with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, your services on this matter have earned you the trust of House Durendaire. If there is aught that we can offer for assistance in your matters here in Coerthas, you need but ask.”

Alphinaud’s face lit up at the offer. “Truthfully, we are here in search of a certain airship-”

* * *

  
  


For the first time, a faint smile graces your features while working on a meal. Tomatoes, onions and garlic cloves are temporarily reduced to their base components under your careful aetheric guidance, gently weaving their flavours together until the glow of your magic dissipates, revealing-

-a bowl of tomato sauce.  _ Exceedingly tasteful _ tomato sauce, granted.

“Fury take me, that is simply unfair.” Medguistl argues in mild astonishment, working several large pots containing what will soon be supper for the brunt of the camp’s occupants. While Lord Drillemont had acquiesced to the request for an expedition of the Stone Vigil, protocol demanded that the news were first delivered to Ishgard before such an undertaking could be started- giving you another night at Dragonhead.

Needless to say, not a single complaint would come from your lips.

This time, flour, water and salt come together under your watchful eye. “I could teach you this method of cooking, if you so wish. ‘Tis the least I can do for allowing me to usurp you in making Haurche’s food this one time.” The fact that a genuine smile feels foreign to you is a damning sign of the last few years. 

Last several years.

Fair enough,  _ last decade. _

For as much as you’d lost the concept of time, you’re fairly sure it hasn’t been  _ two _ decades. Esteem’s sad, pitying smile inside your soul is not exactly heartening.  _ Well that’s what the time travel is for, is it not? _

The head cook of Camp Dragonhead deems to ignore the fresh vermicelli coming into being beside her, regarding you with a knowing expression instead. “Nay, it might be fancy but bulk it serves not.” She closes the flame vent under one of the myriad pans almost all the way, letting it simmer. 

“Besides, I am just happy to know that boneheaded woman has found someone suitable at last.” Medguistl leans towards you, still somehow keeping track of her terrifyingly vast stove. “She might not show it, but her heart has always been looking for someone. A very  _ certain _ someone. And a cook can tell when the main ingredient someone is using happens to be  _ love _ .”

A wink seals her display of knowledge, leading to your cheeks feeling a tad warm. 

Reaching over at one of her racks of utensils, the Hyur woman picks a needlessly large knife, calmly refining the edge for a moment with a small whetstone ‘ere slicing an _entire Dodo_ _in half_ , without looking. “I’m sure whoever gets to be the lucky suitor will do their utmost to make her happy. Don’t you think so?”

Quite how a five-fulm-nothing chef managed to make the slayer of Chaos dry swallow in fear was something that scholars would fruitlessly question for eons. Looking deep within yourself for assistance, the visage of Esteem nodding nervously was all that you got.

Taking her advice, you did the same.

Time flew by easily while you busied yourself with making a somewhat bastardized version of a riviera lunch, complete with the Bismarck’s famous finger sandwiches and extra meat. ‘Twas not the most complex meal you’ve ever made, but definitely a good mix of flavours and heartiness.

By the time you’d finished, the dining hall by the kitchens was already bursting with activity, with Haurchefant herself not present, as was often the case. Thanking Medguistl for her kindness, you make your way to the main hall with two dinners, where the local lord would doubtlessly be, fighting off piles upon piles of paperwork.

Quite how a forward camp generated that much administratorial work would forever be a mystery to you. 

Back at the frontlines of sustenance, the head cook deemed to finally take a bite out of the extra sandwich you’d made for her, as a gesture of appreciation. A small iota of pride arose inside you when you heard the kitchen’s door swinging open just after you entered your destination.

“Disregard what I said earlier, you’re teaching me this!”

* * *

  
  


“My apologies friend, but have I heard you quite correctly? Meddy  _ actually allowed you _ to use part of her kitchen?” The raised eyebrows that coloured the face of the silver-haired woman did not stop her from resuming scarfing down the meal as soon as she’d finished speaking. 

‘Twas a good thing that you’d also bribed Corentiaux with a tactical sandwich for him to take the rest of his meal in the kitchen. It meant no one else got to see your embarrassingly enthralled smile at Haurche’s unabashed enjoyment of your cooking. 

Or the fact that your tail simply refused to sit still.

You’d never gotten the chance to experience this happiness, of having a lover approve of something you’d made, even in the before times. Only tremendous willpower stopped you from sighing wistfully.

Just.

Eventually, your mind, addled in endorphins as it was, finished processing the question your suitor had actually asked. 

“I will admit, some parlaying was necessary, but a woman has her methods.” You decided to actually take a bite out of your food, out of a necessity to finish it rather than actual desire to eat, if anything.

“She seems to care greatly for your well being.” You could see Haurchefant’s expression soften immediately, a small smile gracing her unfairly dashing features.

“Aye, she’s-” A moment passed while the Knight played with the pasta in her plate, searching for the correct words. “-the closest thing I have to a mother, I guess.”

Your eyebrows raise mildly in surprise. You have no recollection of such being the case before.

“Pray tell, how so? I’d imagine your real mother would be rather proud of her daughter being the leader of a camp, no?”

You felt a measure of guilt from such a probing question, but you had to know. Perhaps the stories did not quite line up, and relying on incorrect information was the most dangerous thing one could do.

Plus, truth be told, you simply enjoyed hearing her voice.

She shook her head. “My birth mother passed away when I was very young. As you’ve probably gathered, even though this is a House Fortemps camp, my last name is  _ Greystone. _ ” The implication was not necessarily hard to understand, even for someone not as chronologically experienced as you. You nod for the woman to continue.

“Even though the marriage was one of convenience, Lady Fortemps was not exactly happy with- well, my existence, as you can guess.” Despite the somber matter, a small lopsided grin sneaks into her visage. 

“Father was rather adamant about treating me as a trueborn, however. My name was the only concession he made, if only to avoid the witch from making the downfall of House Fortemps her mission in life.”

You smile in mirth; Haurche was considerably more open about her past it seemed. It suited you just fine, learning about the Elezen was something that warmed your soul unexpectedly well. For how intense the feelings were between you and Haurchefant, he was always very reluctant in sharing aught of his life before the fateful day of your meeting.

On the one hand, you understood. What little glimpses you got of it were not necessarily happy, and digging through painful memories was not something you were wont to do for curiosity’s sake.

Still, the contrast was somewhat glaring, and part of you had to admit you preferred this newfangled concept of ‘learning of your lover’s past’. It felt- closer, in a sense. More honest, almost.

“Anyroad, I digress.” The silver haired knight smiled sheepishly, realizing she’d nearly gone on a rant about her father’s wife. Not that it’d be the first time; or likely the last. 

“Meddy more or less adopted herself as my mother figure while I was growing up in the manor. Caring for my health and education, making sure I ate and dressed properly, stopping me from getting into too many fights, the like.” 

A wistful sigh escaped the Elezen’s lips, a genuine smile colouring her features and doing obscene things to your heart. For once, Esteem cannot find it in herself to mock you for it.

“Mind you, Father did what he could. I do not bemoan him for it at all, he taught me how to be a Lord. But she taught me how to be myself, especially once my condition reared its head.”

“She was a cook at Fortemps manor before coming here, I presume?” For the first time, you are able to actually taste something you’ve made. Oh, you’d eaten your own cooking before, to be sure- but until now, all the flavours were muted,  _ gray. _ Much like your own soul felt.

‘Tis a minor miracle you became as proficient in the art as you did.

Haurchefant laughed conspiratorially. “Ohoho, not merely  _ a _ cook, my friend.  _ The _ cook. The kitchens were her realm, and her realm alone. ‘Twas the one place where the witch dared not step foot in; which meant ‘ere long I learned to take shelter there when that woman was in a particularly foul mood.”

The pride beaming off of the knight at recounting her childhood escapades is almost palpable- and equally endearing.

A shrug marked the approaching end to the tale. “One thing led to another, and when I was given command of Dragonhead, Meddy decided she’d come with me. Much like Corentiaux did, come to think of it.” 

Her hand fished for something underneath the collar of the gambeson which stood underneath her chainmail. A diminutive toy cane, no longer than a finger, carefully placed in a necklace.

“This is the first gift she’s ever given me. Apparently, watching me lead Artoriel and Emmanellain- my brothers -around, reminded her of a shepherd.” She chuckled at the memory, eliciting another smile out of you. This woman certainly was different from the Haurchefant you remember, in many and more a way.

And gods forbid, if things kept going as they were, somehow even more precious.

The noise of countless rings of steel quickly rearranging themselves once their owner physically recoiled back broke you out of the mild affection daze, icy blue eyes wide at the sight of the clock on a nearby wall.

“Fury take me, just how long did I babble on about myself? I was supposed to be reserving time for what you had to tell me! Fool of an Elezen!”

Oh, right. That. You’d yet to reveal to her all of  _ that. _

It’d certainly explain the distinct feeling that a large amount of dread about the near future had gone missing in the last few hours. No matter, ‘twas back with all of the vengeances now. Deep within your soul, Esteem shrugged, mouthing a response.

‘We tried.’

“My deepest apologies. Would my quarters suffice? We shan’t be interrupted there.” A sheepish Haurchefant offered, setting her empty plate aside. Steeling yourself for the trial ahead, you pick up the pixie apple that was meant to be your dessert and follow the taller woman down the corridors at the back of the main hall. 

You can take the timeline out of the wildly tense situations-

* * *

  
  


-but not the tense situations out of the timelines, as you found yourself pacing back and forth in front of the Lord’s bed under her confused gaze.

“How in gehenna am I even supposed to begin to explain this whole mess.”

Your self-muttering is interrupted by Esteem deftly plucking the forgotten fruit from your hand ‘ere sitting besides an even more confused young knight; reveling in the look of annoyance she earns from you in said act.

“Perhaps from the beginning?” Haurche offers in an attempt to help. The fragment of your psyche given form preempts your answer.

“Normally a fair point, this time would mean we’d be here ‘til next fortnight. Why don’t you give the lass a crash course in the basic knowledge to explain how we even got here in the first place, and work from there?” 

You absentmindedly point at the armoured figure, nodding. “Aye, good idea.” A rough sequence of events planned, you turn to face the ever more befuddled woman. “What do you know of Time Magicks?”

“I-” A rueful smile dies on the Elezen’s bewitching face when she realizes you’re being entirely serious. “Not much, I’m afraid. Only the fairy tales of my youth, forgotten spells able to bring youth to the elderly and the like.”

“Good enough. Now, there are two types of time magicks. The first, and easiest, is to move time through a subject.” 

Your finger draws an aetherial line in the air while your other hand manipulates the ambient aether to yank the apple off of Esteem’s mouth without a second thought, causing a cuss which you do not deem to legitimize by listening to.

“Both forwards-” You move the fruit towards one end of the thread, focusing your aether to warp existence within it. Haurchefant’s eyes widen at the sight of the visual example withering before her very sight, drying and darkening within seconds.

“-and backwards.” Your hand brings the remains of the apple towards the other end of the thread, reverting the very flow of time to bring it back to suppleness, and further into its juvenile, green form. Even the bite taken from it by the dark apparition reforms, much to her further chagrin.

A stunned expression is your only answer for a few seconds until the Elezen manages to find her words. “How-  _ where- _ ” She sighs, shaking her head. “I am going to have my world turned on its hind legs many more a time tonight, won’t I?” 

You can’t help but grimace at the upcoming death of Haurche’s innocency, nodding in agreement. “I am afraid so. As for your other questions, a mammet was my teacher. ‘Tis a long,  _ long _ tale.” You take a deep breath to refocus, returning the apple to its ‘normal’ time.

“Anyroad, the other type of time magick involves moving a subject  _ through _ time.” 

You again exemplify by using the fruit, this time removing it from the virtual timeline altogether and placing it back at the ‘future’ end.

“This is  _ vastly _ more aether intensive, if aught because you are altering the flow of time of  _ the entirety of creation _ around a single subject. Still, moving towards the future is relatively simple. The main issue is when you attempt to move towards the  _ past. _ ”

As soon as the apple touches the aetherial line near the start, the rest of the thread unravels.

“Suppose you were able to go back in time and, say, spend time with your mother.” Haurchefant’s attention perks up further at that notion. “That’d likely mean you wouldn’t miss her to the point of going back in time, which would mean you wouldn’t do so, which would mean you’d go back to meet her again-”

You stop the circular train of thought, removing the offending food item from the displaced line. It slowly reforms.

“‘Tis a paradox. Normally, it’d mean time travel to the past is impossible, were it not for one thing.”

A theatrical wave of your arm shrinks the visualization of a line of time, revealing  _ millions upon millions _ more existing in parallel. Truly a countless amount, weaving a tapestry of existence itself.

“Multiverse theo-” 

“Eh. Not really a theory anymore, is it?” Esteem produces another apple out of thin air, taking another bite nonchalantly. Still, she had a point.

“True. Multiverse  _ law _ , at this point.” You concede, sighing. To her credit, the silver haired woman’s eyes have not yet glazed over, still attempting to absorb what you are saying.

_ “Anyroad _ , ever since the very creation of our universe-” You flick your hand towards the ‘past’, eventually reaching the single point where all threads merge. “Every single time there is any possibility of fate taking two or more different paths, new lines in time are created to accommodate such divergences.”

Another flick, to focus on two lines so close they all but touched.

“Something as minor as the colour of a single flower in a mountaintop.”

Off in the distance, a solitary thread charted its own path. 

“To a world we wouldn’t even recognize.”

You look at Harche expectantly, letting her digest the deluge of knowledge you’ve assaulted her with. Eventually, she nods to herself before meeting your eyes. 

“‘Twould be a gross understatement to say this wasn’t enlightening, yet I don’t quite follow what the connection is with time magicks. But my mind currently resembles a bowl of soup, so forgive me if I’m missing the obvious.”

You smile at the woman. “Not at all, this last part has only been discovered through experimentation very recently.”  _ To say the least _ , you can just about hear Esteem say through her expression.

“It turns out, while you cannot change your own past-” A quick snap of your fingers brings the aetherial visualization to the end of a fraying, nigh cut thread. A single dot of light leaves it, traveling back until it eventually lands on another, much stronger line.

“-you still  _ can _ move into another’s.” Slowly, the aether used for the glamours in your explanation fades away, leaving a weary Au Ra and a mentally exhausted Elezen staring at eachother. Silence fills the room like a smothering miasma until Haurche finally gives voice to the Mammoth in the room.

“By the goddess; so you-” Her voice dies off before the sentence is finished. It doesn’t have to be, after all.

A deep breath escapes your lips before your eyes lower on their own. You know she’s not disappointed in you- hells, you’re not quite sure that soul has the  _ capability _ to be.

Not that she needs to- looking back on it with a somewhat clearer mind, you are disappointed enough in yourself for the both of you. But still, ‘twas your decision to make. 

And if necessary, you’d make it again.

“Aye.”

“As she should have. How many times have we sacrificed it all to save that world? Dozens? Hundreds?” Esteem interjected, bouncing her argument off of the silver haired woman so it may reach the rest of her own self better. “We more than earned our own happiness.” 

“But to leave everything behind as such- pray tell me, friend. Why was said happiness not possib-” A small grunt of pain stopped Haurchefant’s question, a calloused hand coming up to her temple in a movement you’re all too familiar with.

Your eyes widen when the sensation overtakes you as well, the simple but homely bedchamber being replaced by a blood red sunset.

The same one that’s been present in your nightmares for gods know how long now.

Bursts of aether myriad and more cover the airship landing your younger self dashes and dodges through below. Near on the entirety of the Heaven’s Ward saturate the path in front of you with incantations and abilities alike in the hope of buying enough time for Archbishop Thordan to escape.

In vain, so far. The patterns are clear for you to see, allowing you and your wind aspected Egi to continue your assault at full speed. Naught but a few steps behind, Haurchefant’s gallant figure follows you, using your footsteps as guidance to steer clear of the maelstrom of energies.

“Is that- me?” The Elezen Woman’s stunned voice rings out besides you, also looking down on the scene. To her right stands Ser Zephyrin, lance of energy at hand. You’d confirm her guess, were you able to. Despite having seen the scene in your mind’s eye thousands of times over, to experience it again in such clarity robbed you of any words or actions.

You can but watch helplessly, and experience the maddening grief all over again.

Like fate itself, the bolt of aether flies true towards the version of your self down below. Too busy, too occupied with dodging every other attack to notice it. But he did.

He always does.

“Look out!”

The House Fortemps shield weathers the blow in your place, for a time. Long enough for you to force the corrupt knights to retreat back into the departing airship.

But never long enough for you to pull your bridegroom to safety.

For as consequential as the moment his body is pierced became; to both your life and the fate of your previous world, the happenstance itself is nigh anticlimactic- the sound of steel and chainmail giving way, followed by a body falling listlessly to the ground.

‘Tis only the scream of your younger self that breaks through the stupor you find yourself in. Tears roll down your cheeks like that very moment, yet you cannot feel them.

While you cannot see it, you can feel that Haurche stands at your side, just as shocked. Perhaps more.

Even from this distance, the sheer amount of aether being desperately channeled towards futile efforts at keeping the man alive is palpable. This tended to be where your nightmares ended, if for no other reason than you were later told that the sheer exertion of your attempts at healing magicks had rendered you unconscious for many bells afterwards.

Indeed, you could tell that the reserves of aether from your previous self were waning, with no success to show for it. For a moment, the Eternity Ring in your left hand caught the sun brightly enough to shine even through the haze of spellcasting around your forms.

A dark jest from existence itself, perhaps.

Yet soon that light was supplanted by dozens,  _ hundreds _ more- all coming from within the vault and slowly but inexorably being syphoned into you. Further fuel for a last, desperate attempt to turn back the hands of fate.

“By the Fury, are those-” The Elezen at your side was speechless while trying to understand the scene before her.

“-are those  _ the souls of the recently deceased?” _

So they were, caught before they had the chance to rejoin the lifestream, you realized. Sacrificed at the altar of the deepest, purest form of grief for a chance,  _ any  _ chance of having the man you loved back. By now bypassing his actual body and conjoining into a form of pure light atop it.

_ Dear gods, did you truly attempt to- _

“Stop! That won’t bring him back! You are creating a primal!” 

Alphinaud’s desperate plea fell on deaf ears, for you were far past the point of reason, or the point of even being able to hear it. Anything,  _ anything _ was better than being without him.

Yet, a single Dragoon clad in red was at last able to pierce through the maelstrom of aether keeping the others at bay; the dull sound of metal striking flesh putting an end to the macabre ritual by knocking your form unconscious. 

The silence inside Haurche’s bedchambers while the memory dissipates is only broken by the sobs and whines coming from you, curled on the ground as you were. Claws dig into the scales of your forearms, tightly wrapped around your knees in an attempt of keeping the world at bay, the pain and grief at bay.

A part of you wonders if you were better off not knowing the truth of that day. Said part’s soul wraps herself around you, a blanket of darkness and care.

‘Tis a mere shadow of what Esteem wished to be able to do, but perhaps only right for a shadow herself.

You do not notice the form kneeling at your side, but the sensation of long, powerful arms carefully wrapping around you is enough to get through, if barely. But the weary whisper certainly does.

“By the Fury, I’m so sorry.”

  
  
  



End file.
